


where you belong

by selflessbellamy



Series: bite your friend like chocolate [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Masturbation, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 16:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17564360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selflessbellamy/pseuds/selflessbellamy
Summary: “Clarke?” At the sound of her name, she lets her eyelids flutter open. Above her, he is smiling softly, running his fingers through her hair. “Do you wanna go to Homecoming with me?”She beams so much that she can feel the light pouring from her eyes and the grin spreading across her face. “Of course I’ll go with you,” is her immediate response.His answering smile could brighten even the darkest corner of the universe.***(the prequel to 'bite your friend like chocolate' but the two fics can be read in any preferred order)





	where you belong

**Author's Note:**

> (question: am i going to be milking this AU as long as people are interested?  
> answer: damn right, i am)
> 
> this fic is a prequel to 'bite your friend like chocolate', but you can read the two fics in whatever order you prefer. it doesn't matter whatsoever. i will say that this one is ANGSTY, so... there's that. also, this one is written from both clarke and bellamy's POV.
> 
> the title is from adele's 'make you feel my love'

 

**_June - Clarke_ **

When he shows up at her parents’ house unannounced one evening, Clarke pauses at the end of the staircase and looks at him. His dark eyes seem to have lost their stars, but it’s difficult to tell, because he’s trying not to look at her. However, it’s impossible not to notice that he’s trembling.

“ _Bellamy…?_ ” his name is a mere breath escaping her lips.

As she makes her way towards him, she shares a brief look with her parents sitting in the living room, who both have worry etched into their expressions, to tell them that they need to stay where they are.

Once she’s standing in front of him, his jaw clenches, making her heart drop to the bottom of her ribcage; _she knows what’s coming…_

His eyes fill with the ruthless tears that he can no longer keep at bay, and without saying anything at all Clarke wraps her arms around his much larger frame, pulling him close into an embrace. Immediately, the tension seeps from his body and he relaxes against her, buries his nose in her shoulder. 

For a while, they just stand there, holding onto each other in the darkness of the hallway. His breath hitches from time to time, causing an unfamiliar force to tear at her heartstrings, so she tries to soothe him by brushing her fingertips through his soft, curly hair. After another minute, without verbally deciding on it together, they walk upstairs to her bedroom, her hand clutching his. 

Although Clarke is desperate to find out what’s wrong, anxiety is biting at her chest, making it hard to form the words. Also, a voice at the back of her mind keeps telling her to stay quiet, to let him decide if he wants to say anything. 

Bellamy sniffles, staring out of her window at the setting sun that, with its dying rays, paints the sky in vibrant colors: crimson, deep orange and indigo. But then he turns his head to gaze at her instead, and despite how the tears still cling to the corners of his eyes Clarke thinks that she sees _awe_ in them. 

She would’ve said his name had her breath not been stolen.

When he speaks then, “Have you drawn anything today?” it nearly startles her, so it a moment passes before she reaches for her small moleskin sketchbook on the nightstand. Eyeing him, she flips through the pages until she finds the drawing that she did a couple of hours ago. Normally, she doesn’t show him a lot of her art, but now that he’s _asked_ to see it she wants him to, for some reason. 

He sits down next to her on the edge of the bed to look at the drawing: _a cityscape being held up by a pair of big hands._ A tiny smile starts to pull at the corners of his mouth, which makes her heart leap.

“Are you gonna color it?”

Well, she hadn’t really thought about it, but she supposes that if she were to do that, she would make the hands bronze like his, not ivory like hers. “I think so.”

“Cool.” With this comment, he leans closer to her.

Smiling, Clarke turns her head to find only an inch of space remaining between their faces, and now she can truly see the sadness that refuses to leave his gentle eyes. Despite her fear of crossing any invisible line, she cups his freckled cheek; it’s as if the touch makes the truth pour out of his mouth.

“I’m doing everything I can, right? For my mom… I mean, I—I earn money for groceries,” his fists clench at the same time as his jaw. “I do well in school so that she doesn’t have to worry; I make sure the bills are paid, because she… she tends to forget.”

Once again, he’s trembling like a volcano that’s about to erupt, but she’s unafraid of his emotion, even his anger. It doesn’t stir her, because she knows how to make him feel better: by offering reassurance, so that’s what she tries to give him. “You’re a good son, Bell. If you could do more to help her, you would, I’m sure of that.”

A single tear escapes his eye, but he brushes it away before she can. “She’s so worn out. I just feel like a burden.” 

_Oh no, please…_

Desperate for him to listen, Clarke grabs his shoulders. “You are _not_ a burden, you hear me? You’re her only son, and you’re doing more than enough.”

“But—“

“Bellamy! Come on. You’re barely eighteen, and you have the weight of the world on your shoulders already. I refuse to let you crumble under it, do you understand? I— You’re my best friend, I won’t let that happen to you.”

He’s fully crying now, and the sight of it causes a knife to cut through her chest. Squeezing her eyes shut through the pain, Clarke presses a kiss to his forehead. “You’re not alone. I’m here. I’m _always_ here.” 

In a desperate attempt to soothe him, she caresses his palm with her fingertips. It takes him a couple minutes to stop crying, but when he does he takes her hand, almost as if he is scared that she will pull it away. 

“Look, I know that you won’t appreciate me telling you this, but I’m gonna do it anyway: The truth is that you came here because you need a break, and that’s alright. You can stay here for rest of the week,” she says, knowing her parents won’t mind. To her surprise, he doesn’t argue. Hell, he doesn’t even look like he _wants_ to argue.

For the rest of the night, they watch an indie movie on Netflix called ‘ _Before We Go.’_

And Clarke has a lot to say as the credits start to roll, “Is that it? What the fuck. No, they can’t do that!” 

At her dramatic outrage, Bellamy chuckles, which is a sound that strikes her heart and fills it with warmth. “It’s called an _open ending_ for a reason, Princess.”

“But I wanna know if they find their way to each other!”

His eyes crinkle at the corners, the smile on his lips growing to an amused grin. “Why are you rooting for them? They just met like… ten hours ago. Personally, I don’t believe in the whole love-at-first thing.” 

She realizes that he has a point, but still. “I don’t believe in it either, per se. But I like the concept. Sue me.” 

As soon as she has said this, Clarke can tell that a question is resting on the edge of Bellamy’s lower lip, but he bites it, manages to hold himself back, which agitates her like nothing else: _What did he want to say? Did he deem it unimportant?_ Nevertheless, she tries to tell herself that it doesn’t matter, and yet she can’t quite control her own curiosity. 

Maybe he wanted to ask her whether she used to believe that she would meet her soulmate one day; maybe he wanted to know if she thinks she’s already found that person, if that person could be a friend. 

_If it could be him..._

* * *

 

On a hot afternoon in late June, she notices the tiny fleck of gold in his brown eyes. It makes her fingers itch for pencils and crayons, but there is no art surplice nearby; only the green grass and its buttercups, the rough material of his worn jeans against the back of her neck.

“Clarke?” At the sound of her name, she lets her eyelids flutter open. Above her, he is smiling softly, running his fingers through her hair. “Do you wanna go to Homecoming with me?”

She beams so much that she can _feel_ the light pouring from her eyes and the grin spreading across her face. “Of course I’ll go with you,” is her immediate response.

His answering smile could brighten even the darkest corner of the universe.

Then he runs a hand through his hair, looking a little flustered despite himself, so she can’t resist the urge to tease him a bit, “Shouldn’t you have asked Bree, though? Everyone’s saying that she’ll be the Queen. The quarterback is supposed to go with the Queen, isn’t that some sort of rule?” 

“Yeah, in the rulebook of clichés, maybe,” Bellamy says, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. “Bree’s cool an’ all, but you’re my favorite person in the world, so…” Suddenly he frowns a little. “What about Collins? You think he’ll be upset?” 

 _Finn_ Collins is a guy from her English class. Just before the beginning of their summer break, he’d started taking notice to her, winking at her from the back row. At first, she had rolled her eyes, needing much more than charm to swoon over someone she’d never talked to before. However, when they were assigned to do an essay together, they exchanged phone numbers and have been talking (mostly through text messages) since.

It hits her that although she’s felt giddy looking at his messages and waited for him to ask her out on a date for the past week, Clarke didn’t even consider the possibility that he might ask her to Homecoming.

“Nah, he’ll understand. It’s just a dance. It’s not a big deal.” 

“No, it isn’t,” is what he sighs after a second, leaning back to look at the cloudless sky. For some reason, the silence that grows between them then is heavier than usual, even somewhat uncomfortable. Feeling a strange sensation tighten her stomach, Clarke picks a buttercup from the grass and frowns at it as though _it_ is somehow to blame for this.

She forces herself to break the silence eventually, unable to take it anymore. “What color do you think my dress should be?”

When he smiles at that, his dark brown eyes twinkling as they settle on hers, Clarke’s chest floods with relief. Then he says, “I think you should choose yourself.”

“Don’t be such a bore,” she chuckles, sitting up to place the buttercup in his hair. After withdrawing her hand, Clarke realizes that their faces are so close that she can clearly see the dusting of beautiful freckles across his cheeks: There are a lot more of them during the sun-filled months, and the sight makes her heart skip a beat. 

Just as she’s about to avert her gaze, Bellamy lifts her chin carefully using his finger. His eyes latch onto hers, flickering, and she feels an unfamiliar burning sensation rise through her ribcage. Of their own accord, her fingers dig into the soft earth beneath the grass.

An eternity could have easily passed around them without her noticing a thing; she would have seen nothing except him. 

And then he suddenly says, “I think you should wear blue.”

Still unable to look away from him, Clarke swallows. “Um, any specific shade?” 

His smile turns lopsided and the corners of his eyes crinkle as he shakes his head. “No, but be sure to send me a pic of the dress when you’ve bought it.” 

As she nods, her eyes are finally able to drop from his, but they still seem to be enchanted by the lone freckle above his upper lip, at least for a few long moments. For the first time, Clarke realizes what people mean when they say that they’ve been _spellbound._

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, Finn asks her to Homecoming a couple days later by _calling_ her, and she can hear the heavy disappointment in his voice when she tells him that she already has a date. 

“It’s Bellamy, isn’t it?” 

Him taking that guess is surprising, even though the whole school knows about she and Bellamy’s close friendship at this point, which is natural given that they don’t try to hide it. Why would they? It’s not like they’re _together_ or anything.

With this in mind, she decides to reassure Finn. “Yeah, but we’re only going as friends. He asked me a couple days ago.”

“But why did he choose you? I mean, he’s the damn quarterback, isn’t he? He could go with _anyone._ ”

Most likely, Finn doesn’t realize that what he’s saying is low-key rude. Not only that, but it makes his jealousy a little too transparent, and the idea of Finn being jealous of _Bellamy_ makes her feel weirdly defensive. “Maybe he wants to go with me because he thinks I’m a cool person. There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

“Does he _like_ you, though? As more than a friend?” 

Clarke nearly chokes on thin air, making her response emerge as a choked breath, “Of course he doesn’t. We’ve been best friends for _years._ There’s nothing more to it.” 

Still, Finn doesn’t seem convinced. “You sure about that?”

“One hundred percent… Hey, there’s prom. You can take me to prom.” 

Obviously, Clarke knows that this isn’t the way it’s supposed to go, because the excitement of prom rests on the idea that you’re _invited_ to it. Therefore, it goes against unwritten rules to suggest that someone take you to prom before the season has even started.

So, as expected, Finn seems a little thrown-off by her suggestion, but in the end he replies, “Okay. Yeah, that’s… cool. I’ll do that then.”

Perhaps it’s not the most enthusiastic response in the world, but something about her relationship with Bellamy has clearly left him confused, which is not unusual: In fact, plenty of people last year were gossiping about whether ‘ _Clarke Griffin was dating the new quarterback_.’

Those rumors don’t actually bother her too much — if anything she finds them amusing. However, if there’s a possibility that they’re having a negative effect on Finn Collins, perhaps they’re not so funny anymore. Or maybe she shouldn’t care at all about what people believe.

 

* * *

 

**_July - Clarke_ **

How both of them end up falling asleep in her bed is not a mystery, per se. 

The last thing she remembers is the warm laughter emerging from his lips; that he gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek, which caused her to briefly think about how his lips would taste like sugar if they met hers, since they had devoured a bag of Sour Patch Watermelon to stay awake. 

They had decided to hold a Harry Potter movie marathon, but fell asleep halfway through Deathly Hallows Part I.

Now they’re a mess of limbs slumped against her navy blue velvet headboard, her head resting on his shoulder; it’s not the worst place to fall asleep, if you think about it. Last night, Bellamy had encouraged her to fight the desire to rest her eyes, but his effort didn’t help much in the end. He must’ve fallen asleep some time after her, because by the looks of it he’s removed her laptop from the bed to make sure nothing happened to it.

When she kisses his cheek, a small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, which tells her that he is awake before he says, “Morning, Princess.” Still, she’s too tired to lift her head completely off his shoulder, so she finds herself snuggling against his side, and he chuckles. 

“You’re never allowed to sleep on the floor again,” she mumbles, the words leaving her mouth without permission. 

 _Seriously, what they hell did she just say?_

It’s very nice to have Bellamy here next to her, solid and warm, but the hidden implications of her most recent statement are ones that she didn’t even pause to think about: The thought of the mattress in her closet never being pulled out again, being left to collect dust, makes it hard to breathe. Nevertheless, she tries to shove the thought far away despite that it has caused hot blood to settle in her cheeks. 

She keeps waiting for Bellamy to respond, but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe he didn’t hear her. If that were the case, she’d consider herself lucky. It’s more likely that he thought she was joking. 

After eating breakfast — Jake Griffin’s lovely blueberry pancakes, he’s really enjoying his time off work — she and Bellamy experience a strange sugar rush that causes them to play wrestle on her bedroom rug like two nine year olds.

“I said no tickling! You’re so unfair.”

He simply grins at her, reaching for ankle.

 _Not the foot,_ she thinks.

This time, though, she is faster than him, pulling herself up only to push him down, so that he’s lying on his back. Before he has had a chance to react, Clarke grabs his wrists, effectively pinning him beneath her. The smile growing on her lips is triumphant.

Apparently, she hasn’t succeeded in locking his legs in place, because at the next second he wraps them around her waist and uses the strength in his thighs to flip them around. She squeals in surprise as she is forced to release his wrists. 

Now that _he_ is above _her,_ he kisses her forehead. “All’s fair in love and war, Princess.”

“And this is war?”

“Exactly.” When he kisses her cheek as well, she feels it flush with heat.

Since they have found a clear winner of this spontaneous play fight, they both sit up with their backs resting against the end of her bed to regain their breaths. His foot nudges hers, making her smile, and he lets his forehead rest against her temple as he chuckles.

For whatever reason, it makes goosebumps form on the skin of her neck. 

Then she catches herself wondering what it would feel if he kissed her on her throat, which is a thought she’s sure should be considered criminal given the platonic status of their relationship. _Being curious isn’t dangerous, though, is it?_  

But as soon as the thought has entered her mind, it refuses to leave. Within the next couple of seconds, the virtually innocent curiosity has morphed into sudden desire. Bellamy has given her a lot of friendly cheek and forehead kisses in the past four years, so by now she knows his lips to be full, warm and slightly chapped… 

To prevent herself from thinking more about this, Clarke tells him, “Finn Collins asked me out. He’s taking me to the new frozen yogurt place downtown.”

When she mentions the location, Bellamy grimaces, and she doesn’t have to ask why. In the _ice cream vs. frozen yogurt_ discourse, she definitely prefers the former, and even though she decided to be honest about it to Finn, he said that this place had the best frozen yogurt he’d ever tried and that he wanted her to try it, so she has chosen to give it a chance. 

Just one chance…

“Frozen yogurt in this day and age? You should be offended.”

Though his tone of voice is rippled with sarcasm, Clarke senses an edge of truth to his words and cannot personally argue against it, but whatever. In the end, Finn _might_ be right: Maybe this new place really does have some frozen yogurt that doesn’t taste as if the person who made it accidentally dropped a whole bag of sugar into the mixture.

“When is he taking you?” Bellamy asks. 

“Next week. Monday.” 

For a moment, she could’ve sworn she saw his jaw clench, but now he’s smiling at her. Then he takes her hand and spends a couple seconds looking at her nails, which have been coated in a glittery silver polish. “Are you testing shades for Homecoming? Yesterday they were dark blue.” 

Clarke chuckles. “You noticed! Which one do you prefer?”

“Why does it matter what I prefer?”

At that, she rolls her eyes, but it’s not without affection. “Just pick something, for once in your life, Bell.” 

“Okay! I like the blue one better. It’s more _you._ ” 

Although she doesn’t know exactly what he means by it, the comment still makes her heart flutter, because she’s sure it’s supposed to be a fond compliment of some sort: _It’s more you, so therefore I like it best._

He’s cute. 

“Besides, your opinion matters because you’re my date,” she argues, trying not to feel too flustered.

Suddenly, he’s gazing at her, his eyes as soft as the earth following a heavy rainfall. Like they’d done that afternoon while they were resting on the grass of her backyard, his eyes seem to draw her in with their mesmerizing, rich shades of brown. Even when he speaks, she still can’t shake herself out of it. 

“You wanna hear my opinion? I think you’re beautiful. That’s it. There’s nothing else to it, really.” 

These words stick to her heart, reshaping it in some way, but she doesn’t know what that means. All she knows is that it makes her chest flood with affection for him until there’s nothing else that she can do except lean her forehead against his. She doesn’t know what to say, so she hopes that this action conveys what she’s feeling.

Then it hits her: _Shit. He just called her beautiful_ — and he said it so matter-of-factly, too. 

Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that he would describe her like this.

 

* * *

 

Speaking of wild dreams, she never thought he’d show up in one of hers, especially not in the way he does the following night: 

_His hot skin against hers, his lips on her throat; the two of them and the thin sheets. Together, they generate heat like a couple of flames dancing in the night, and she feels herself burn in the best way possible. If it hadn’t been for the distinctive way his tongue curls around her name, she would’ve been able to fool herself into believing that the guy with her was Finn — not Bellamy._

_“Clarke…”_

_But it is Bellamy. There is no denying it._

_And he makes her feel so good. There’s no denying that either. In between his passionate kisses mapping every inch of her body within reach, and the feeling of his cock inside her, she’s close enough to the high that she can almost taste it._

_When he fucks into her again, she grabs the headboard, biting her lower lip, but the breathy moan escapes her anyway. It feels like they’re about to become one, like they will finally figure out how two people can melt together in pleasure—_

With no warning whatsoever, Clarke jolts awake. The dream was so vivid, so tangible that she fears that she’s going to find herself naked beneath the sheets and that _he_ will walk into the bedroom in a moment to rejoin her on the bed. 

But she is definitely wearing clothes: a worn Arctic Monkeys t-shirt and panties, which are — to her immediate horror — soaked in arousal.

 _Oh no. No, no, no, no._

_It was Finn. Sweet, charming Finn Collins._

It had to be.

To say that her heart is pounding would be the understatement of the century; it pumps panic through her veins like a drug that makes her unable to stay calm. Terrified, she pulls herself out of bed and rushes into the shower, hoping that rinsing her skin will somehow wipe the memory from her mind, but it’s persistent: The images are so clear, and they seem to have etched themselves into her brain.

Bellamy kissing her; Bellamy _thrusting_ into her… 

Whenever she thinks about it, a ruthless wave of shame surges through her stomach, making her feel nauseous. If he knew about this…

Nobody can know about this. 

In a desperate attempt to rationalize with herself, Clarke recalls the medical information that her mom has given her about what happens to the human body during the teenage years: The thriving hormones sometimes affect the mind in such a way that sexual fantasies are created, and these fantasies _don’t_ have to mean anything.

Clarke takes a ragged breath, presses her forehead against the cool tiles of her shower, then whispers to herself, “It doesn’t mean anything.”

No matter what, she has to believe that. Because Bellamy is her best friend, for crying out loud, and there are some lines that should never be crossed. If anything, she is relieved that the fantasy was a dream, since she doesn’t have any control of her dreamscape, but there’s no limit to the potential horrors that could occur if she ever fantasied about him while awake. 

She needs to focus on the boy who actually wants to be with her.

 

* * *

 

**_August - Bellamy_ **

 

The rain is pounding, creating a sloppy beat as it hits the windshield. In the back of his mind, as he drives through the streets of Ark, he can’t help but feel somewhat bad for Collins, who planned this date thinking that the weather would be as consistent as it has been for the past two months. Until this afternoon, the sun has seemed unconquerable, breaking through every possible cloud. 

But now, the skies are crying — as is his heart, and yet he’s trying to ignore it.

Every time he thinks about Clarke being on this date with Finn, something unfamiliar tightens in his chest, makes his mouth taste like poison and his skin burn. Since this sensation is still new to him, he hasn’t yet discovered a way to combat it. All that he can do is grit his teeth as he rolls up to the curb by the small frozen yogurt shop.

His heart skips a beat: There she is, waiting for him in the downpour. Hugging her in a hopeless attempt to shield off the heavy rain, Clarke runs the few feet to his car, and only once she has opened the passenger door does he realize that she is _drenched._  

“Fuck, why didn’t you wait inside?” 

Glancing at him, she wipes some raindrops from her face. “I’ve only been waiting out here for two minutes, at most.” 

Although he is tempted to argue again, he bites the words back when she shivers. Instead, he reaches for one of the blankets behind the seat, only to remember that they are all currently undergoing their annual wash. He shoots her an apologetic look and turns on the heating system, which feels weird considering that they’re in early August. 

But whatever; he’s not going to let her get sick…

Just before he turns the key in the ignition, he looks at her to see if she’s coping, but his attention is grabbed by something else entirely: the way her soaked t-shirt clings to her skin, to the curves that he always knew she had but never allowed himself to think much about; her floral skirt that cuts off right above the knee. 

For a minute, his mind generates an illusion so strong that it steals his breath: him touching the soft, ivory skin of her thighs… _What happens when the sun meets the moon? When gold meets silver?_ Chances are that he will never know, and it pains him.

Still, he hates himself for letting his mind go there. 

The drive is mostly silent, which is unusual, but he tries to focus on the road, because if he doesn’t his eyes will certainly drift to Clarke without permission, and the last thing he wants do is make her uncomfortable by ogling at her.

“As much as this date wasn’t the best, the weather taken into consideration, he’s really nice… and quite attractive.”

Bellamy has to bite the inside of his cheek, because he feels the push of a snide remark against his throat, and he’s afraid of hearing his own voice, afraid that it will be bitter with jealousy.

_Fucking jealousy._

Clenching his jaw, he hums in response, hoping that it will sound at least somewhat natural. It doesn’t, so he forces himself to say something, to seem interested. “And the frozen yogurt?” 

“Disgusting.” 

Despite himself, Bellamy can’t help but feel smug when she says this, and he has to battle the smirk that’s trying to pull at the corners of his mouth. Suddenly his chest floods with warmth as he thinks ‘ _That’s my girl’._ However, the sensation only lasts a couple seconds.

Because _no._ She is not _‘his’_ anything, not really. Sure, she’s his best friend, but that doesn’t give him any claim over her whatsoever; nor would he have any claim over her had she — in some alternate, absurd reality — been his girlfriend. Whenever he has spent time with her lately, which includes this moment right now, love for her gushes from his heart and travels all throughout his body until it reaches even his very fingertips. 

But she will never owe him anything just because he loves her. 

It’s as if an eternity has passed while they were driving to her house. Once they finally reach it and he pulls up to the curb, dread settles in his chest. To make matters worse, she kisses his cheek. 

“See you tomorrow, Bell.”

All he can do is croak, “Yeah. See you.” Then she smiles at him, her ocean eyes twinkling at him before she leaves the car. 

But his skin is still burning with the ghost of her lips.

 

* * *

 

 

When he arrives at his own house, it’s empty and dead quiet. As expected, his mom must be working at the gas station, and his little sister — well, she’s been talking about Kristen’s slumber party for almost a week, so she’s probably there already, even though it doesn’t start until this evening. 

He kicks off his shoes and shuffles his way upstairs, to the small room that serves as his safe haven, to which he can lock the door and forget about his responsibilities for five minutes.

With a groan, Bellamy lets himself drop onto the bed. It’s difficult to ignore the sense of dread still that looming in his body. As if that isn’t enough, the image of Clarke soaked by the rain, remains in his mind to haunt him. 

She is a thunderstorm impersonating a girl with ocean eyes, and she’s going to make him drown; of this he is sure. _Dear God, why does she have to be so perfect?_

Though he squeezes his eyes shut trying to hold them back, another string of shameful images floods his mind. He takes a ragged breath, runs a palm across his face, but in the end he has to surrender to the fantasy that is projected like a movie:

_Instead of walking straight up the driveway to her house, she pauses and looks at him, her eyes wilder than he has ever seen them. Without hesitating for a second, he steps out of the car, into the pouring rain, which envelops them until they both seem like mere silhouettes behind the thick curtain of water._

_Fearless, he steps towards her, and she meets him in the middle. Her breath is hot as it fans across his skin; her lips are quivering slightly an inch from his. “I want you.” The words seem unearthly spoken for him by her. Whimpering in desire, she clutches at the back of his shirt—_

Bellamy growls, the sound roaring off the bedroom walls. Although he’s still trying to fight all of this, the burning sensation in his body has risen to his brain, so he feels defenseless.

Swallowing in defeat, he unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants. Of course, he knows how wrong this is, guilt already tearing at him, but as soon as he takes his cock into his hand the fantasy takes shape again.

_“I want you. Please, Bell. Please,” she pleads, gasping. Determined to give her what she wants, he kisses her with bruising force. When she responds by moaning into his mouth, Bellamy lifts her off the ground, only to place her on the hood of his car after a minute._

_Something unwelcome is flashing in his chest, and he barely recognizes it as possessiveness fueled by the desire that is pulsing through his veins. When he kisses her, she tastes like everything he has ever wanted: Her ivory skin is wet and silky against his lips, her breath ragged against his cheek while she pulls at his hair. “Bellamy, I need you!”—_

While he’s doing it, jerking off fills him with intense pleasure that clouds even his self-loathing. In his mind, he is fucking Clarke Griffin, his best friend, and she is on the verge of screaming his name, choking on one moan after the other; every time the sound rings in his ears, he strokes himself hard and fast until— 

Pleasure shoots through his body, more powerful than ever. It paints the inside of his eyelids white, knocks every ounce of air from his lungs. “Fuck…” he rasps.

But the sensation is fleeting, passing as the fantasy dissolves in his mind. It is only then that he’s able to sit up, still struggling for breath, and it dawns on him what he just did: His right hand is trembling, the palm of it sticky with cum. At the shameful sight, the small amount of air he has regained gets stuck in his throat.

“No, no, no— Fuck,” he curses, no less than frantic as he rummages through his beside table drawer for some tissues. Shaking, he cleans himself up, but the wave of guilt sweeping through him is so consuming that it makes him nauseous. 

Disgusted with himself, he stares at his hands. “Why—why did I do that?” Of course, he knows _why_ he did it, so the real question he should be asking is why he _let himself_ do that. Since he was sixteen years old, he has found himself occasionally fantasizing about Clarke, but he’s always been able to control it somehow. Never before has he masturbated while thinking of her. _Never._

But now he has.

And there’s nothing he can do to change it.       

Just minutes ago, he was riding the best damn orgasm he’s had in his entire life, feeling invincible. Now, the illusion has cracked, and he sees himself exactly for what he is: a pathetic, hopeless guy sitting alone in his bedroom, quaking with guilt as the girl he loves swoons over somebody else.

 

* * *

 

The rest of August passes quickly, and as the beginning of the new semester approaches, he is busy punishing himself whenever he experiences the urge to pleasure himself, which only seems to grow stronger at the same rate as his building frustration.

As always, they listen to music in her room, they eat ice cream and hang out beneath the oak tree in her backyard. It seems normal, but nothing is like it seems anymore — not really, but she doesn’t know that. To his utter relief, she doesn’t talk much about Finn. 

However, one afternoon he nearly chokes on nothing when she says, “I think I’m going to have sex with him.” 

Startled, Bellamy removes the one earbud that he’s using, since the other one is in her ear. Still, maybe it is possible for him to have misheard her.

“Huh?”

When Clarke beams at him, the smile grows easily on his lips, and yet it’s painful, stinging his heart. “I mean, I could do it, right? We’ve been on four dates already. I think he really likes me, Bell. We have so much in common, well if you ignore the frozen yogurt thing.” 

Bellamy looks at her, battles the need to frown as the powerful sun kisses her face and hair, making her appear even more radiant than usual, which he didn’t think was possible. “Princess, you can have sex with anyone you like, whenever you like. I don’t actually…” _care._ That’s what he wants to say, but the lie tastes like poison on the tip of his tongue, and he can’t spit it out. 

Just sitting here beside her like this feels like a lie; like the worst form of betrayal.

He hates himself for this. He really does. 

When he doesn’t complete his response, Clarke furrows her brow and squints at him for a couple seconds as though she is able to see right through him. Terrified, his heart doesn’t start beating again until she sighs, “Alright. Fair enough.”

Exhaling, he leans back against the tree trunk, letting his eyes fall shut for just a moment, overcome with relief. But the fear is still lingering in his veins; lately, he’s wondered whether it will ever go away.

 

* * *

 

**_September - Bellamy_ **

There’s an irritating lump in his throat as he parks his car in the driveway of the Griffin home. Although he has already looked at his reflection ten times, he can’t resist glancing in the rearview mirror before he steps out of the car. Despite the flicker of nervousness in his eyes, Bellamy decides that he looks decent.

Once he’s taken a few steps, he sees her waiting for him on the front porch, dressed in a beautiful, sapphire blue gown. Defying the heels of her fancy shoes, Clarke runs to him, grins as she flings her arms around his neck.

“Oh, would you look at that, Abby?” Over her shoulder, Bellamy meet’s Jake Griffin’s vibrant blue eyes just before the man turns to smile at his wife, but she is a little busy with taking pictures already, or perhaps — _oh shit_ — she is recording this moment. 

“Clarke…”

As she pulls back, the nice scent of lavender from her golden hair brushes past his face. Only now does he notice the true brightness of eyes, which manages to make him breathless for a second; it looks as if someone has placed crystals within them.

His heart swells with fondness as he gazes at her, his lips spreading to form a grin, but he doesn’t know if it looks endearing or awkward. Nevertheless, he doesn’t have much time to worry about it, because the next fifteen minutes are reserved for an amateur photo session.

Abby gives them instructions from behind her phone. “Now, try to look at _each other_ instead of me.”

As it turns out, looking at Clarke makes him feel more at ease, the nervous tension seeping from his body in spite of everything. She places a hand to his shoulder, causing a small flicker of courage to light up in his chest, and he leans down, kissing her cheek. 

For a moment, his heart triumphs, though there really isn’t much for it to celebrate. Clarke would rather have Collins stand here next to her, and that’s a fact — a fact that threatens to inject bitterness into his veins. 

 _Not tonight,_ he tells himself firmly. _Don’t screw it up._

“Let’s go, Princess. The ball awaits.”

To his relief, she chuckles at his attempted joke, and he supports her waist as they walk side-by-side to his car.

 

* * *

 

As expected, the homecoming dance is a textbook cliché, but to his surprise it also provides an opportunity for him to have fun with his _best friend._ For so long, he’s thought of Clarke as the girl in his shameful fantasy, the girl he didn’t deserve anymore, if he ever actually did. He had somehow managed to forget about their amazing friendship in the midst of his internal struggle, but as they dance together to upbeat songs like two complete fools, he is reminded of just how much she means to him; how she has filled his life with light. 

Nearly doubling over with laughter as ‘I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’’ by Scissor Sisters fades out, Clarke rests her forehead on his shoulder, chuckles still emerging from her lips, and he places a hand on the small of her back.

All things considered, he is slightly mortified when the next song is slow. Despite not listening to it often, Bellamy identifies it almost immediately as Adele’s ‘Make You Feel My Love’. 

Clarke looks a little shy, a small yet awkward smile pulling at her lips, so he shrugs off his own nervous and says, “Come on, we can do a slow one.”

At his words, she beams, causing relief to surge through his chest. Then she asks him what to do, her cheeks rosy pink, but he manages to keep his cool. “Just put your arm around my shoulder… yeah, like that.” 

They fall into it easily, since slow dancing is more swaying than it is actual dancing. In his ribcage, his heart is fluttering over and over, because she’s smiling at him, seeming completely safe in his arms, which is everything he could ever wish for. After the first minute, the awkwardness in her expression fades, as it’s overtaken by softness, and then she does something that he can barely comprehend: she begins to whisper the song lyrics to him.

“ _When the evening shadows and the stars appear_ _, and there is no one there to dry your tears… Oh, I could hold you for a million years._ ” Clarke is closer to him now, or at least it seems that way, their noses grazing. “ _… To make you feel my love._ ”

While Bellamy wishes that he could sing along with her, his vocal chords seem to have frozen, and he can’t do anything but gaze into her beautiful blue eyes. Smiling, he leans his forehead against hers, which makes her falter for a moment and consequently, she stumbles over the next word. Because her voice cracks, she’s unable to continue, but the slow song still blasts from the stereo, surrounding them. 

 

_I know you haven't made your mind up yet_

_But I will never do you wrong_

_I've known it from the moment that we met_

_No doubt in my mind where you belong._

When she buries her face the crook of his neck, the sweet scent of lavender greets his nostrils, and he encloses her waist, lets his eyes fall shut. Against him, she is warm, perfect as ever. This moment is so full of sheer wonder that he lets himself forget that this is probably the only time he will ever hold her like this. 

It’s _their_ little bubble — and no one else is here right now.

But of course, every bubble is bound to burst at some point. As Adele’s voice fades out, Clarke draws back, though not all the way. There’s barely an inch of space between their faces, even less between their lips, and it’s as if the world stops spinning then. 

A kiss would take the fraction of a movement, a moment’s recklessness, which doesn’t seem like much, _but it is._ In this case, nothing is everything.

Bellamy has no idea how long they stand there, breathing the same air, their lips barely grazing before she turns her head away from him slightly. Though he could feel that a kiss wasn’t going to happen, the reality of it remains brutal, feels like a knife stabbing his heart. 

“I have to go to the restroom, the line is much shorter now,” she rushes, and he lets go of her despite how much he wants to hold on, despite knowing that this is just an excuse to get away from him. 

Swallowing the hard lump in his throat, Bellamy watches her make her way through the crowd of teenagers towards the restrooms. Unaware of what to do now, he pours himself a cup of water and downs it, his eyes darting to the direction, in which she went.

Five minutes later when she finds him again, he notices that the skin below her bright eyes has turned puffy and her eyeliner is a little smudgy. At the sight, panic flares in his veins, but before he can think of anything to say, Clarke is trying to drag him along by his sleeve, “The party’s almost over. Maybe we should drive home—” 

Not having any of this, Bellamy pulls her back towards him. “Wait…” Though countless questions are burning in his mind, the first one that leaves his lips is, “Have you been crying?”

She turns her head away from him as though she was just slapped. Knowing he probably shouldn’t, Bellamy cradles her face in his hands and tries to search her eyes for the truth, but he finds them tough as steel. Her expression is unreadable. 

Nevertheless, the slight tremble in her voice gives her away, “It—it doesn’t matter, Bell. Can we please just go?”

 

* * *

 

In August, he’d thought that the drive from the frozen yogurt place was quiet, but this one definitely changes his previous perception. The silence looms between them in the small space of his car, hangs over their heads like a merciless cloud. 

Meanwhile, his mind has been thrown completely off its hinges, making his every thought foggy and confusing, but there is _one_ thing that he doesn’t have to think about for long to be certain of: _the slow dance broke something between them._

While it was happening, he had never felt closer to her, physically or emotionally. Now, however, he wishes that it hadn’t happened, that the love song hadn’t begun to play. If her memory of Homecoming night has been tainted forever because of this, he doesn’t know how he’ll be able to forgive himself.

As always, Bellamy rolls up to the curb, but to his surprise she doesn’t leave the car. Instead, she fidgets with the hem of her dress and says, her voice small, “Why did you invite me?” 

 _What?_ He feels his own jaw slack at the question. Unable to do much else, he gives her the truest explanation that he can without ruining _everything,_ “Because I wanted to go with you.” 

“But why _me,_ Bell?” her voice is high-pitched, yet not quite free of tears. 

Desperate, he half-shouts his response, “Damn, I don’t know! Maybe because you’re my best friend, and there’s no one I’d rather spend my time with!”

Then he plucks up the courage it takes to glance at her, but as soon as he has he wishes that he could un-see the tears that are clinging to the corners of her eyes. For a moment, he expects this to end right here, with her giving him a short goodbye before leaving the car, but _no._  

“So you weren’t trying to kiss me?” 

It feels as if someone has just punched him, because the air leaves his lungs. “What?” Without a doubt, it’s the most pathetic way to reply, but his insides are screaming in utter panic and there’s nothing else he can say right now. 

“Before… during the dance.”

At this point, he’s more afraid than he’s ever been in his life. He has no idea how to save this now, because if he says the wrong thing their friendship might be over, lost to awkwardness or misunderstanding. Although lying is the last thing that he wants to do, he says, “No. Of course not— I would never do that.”

It’s not entirely true, but he thinks it’s what she wants to hear.

Still there’s one problem: it might _not_ be what she wants to hear at all. Most of the time, after four years of close friendship, Bellamy has a sense of who she is, how she reacts in certain situations, and yet ever he can’t read her mind. 

With his response, the silence returns, but this time it’s even more impenetrable. In the end, all that she can say is, “… Okay,” which causes him to fear that she doesn’t believe him. He can’t blame her, though.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Clarke mumbles before opening the passenger door, and her words awake something unknown within him that pushes him out of the car as well.

Just as she turns to head up the driveway, Bellamy grabs her wrist. “Please. We can’t end the night like this.” 

Her stunning blue eyes are full of tears when they meet his, but he forces himself to keep looking at her, but then she sniffles and gives in, falling against his chest. 

While they embrace, he hopes that by holding onto her long enough he’ll be able to anchor them to this spot. The mere thought of having to watch her walk makes his heart bleed with longing. “If I fucked this up, I’m sorry. I wanted you to have a good night.”

She draws back slightly to gazes at him. “Tonight was _amazing,_ Bellamy. You didn’t do anything wrong, believe me, it’s just…“ Trailing off, she looks at him for a moment as though she wishes that he — just once — could read her mind, so that she didn’t have to explain it. Judging by the way her eyes flicker and her lips are parted slightly, she is as terrified right now as he was a couple minutes ago. If he only knew why, maybe he’d be able to comfort her. 

Maybe he’d be able to make everything right.

Then he watches her lose the will that it would take to express herself. With a sigh — sadness clings to the edges of it — she stands on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek, letting her lips linger on his skin for longer than usual, for longer than necessary.

“Goodnight, Bell.” 

 _This is it: his last possible shot._ If he wants their lips to ever meet, it has to be now, but her fingers are slipping out of his, her smile fading and his heart aches with the searing pain of his regrets as he whispers, “Night, Princess.”

And his last thought as he watches her leave is: _There goes the dream. Up in smoke._

 

* * *

 

 

**_October - Clarke_ **

It’s safe to say that she has never felt more out of place in her entire life, dressed as a character from a movie that she doesn’t even like, listening to crappy rap music blasting out of the stereo. Finn, who’s supposed to be her _date,_ is busy talking to some dudebro in the corner of the room and hasn’t paid any attention to her in the past hour.

As she pretends to take a sip of the cheap beer that one of the other girls brought, he finally appears to notice that she’s bemused. To think that she spent all of last night expecting this to be the night where she’d lose her virginity… needless to say, those plans are looking bleaker by the second.

“Hey, why are you standing here all alone?” Finn asks once he has reached her, and she has to fight the desire to scoff.

“I don’t know any of these people, Finn! And to top it off, it’s a Halloween party. I don’t look even a little bit like myself; it’s an awkward way to meet people.” 

For a moment, his eyes widen at her slight outburst, but then he grins, using his familiar charm. “Come on, you look hot. I’m sure everyone wants to know you are.” 

 _But this isn’t her._ In fact, the lipstick and leather pants make her feel trapped somehow. She’s been here for two hours, yet she already has to battle the temptation of pulling her phone out to text Bellamy.

“When you invited me to this party, I thought there would be no more than five people.” Because the frustration is simmering in her lower belly, it takes all her effort not to hiss at him. “I—it’s overwhelming. I didn’t expect this. I thought we were gonna spend time _together._ ” 

“We are,” is what he insists, narrowing his eyes at her. “Don’t you wanna be here? If you want to go fuck Bellamy instead, then _by all means,_ feel free.”

 _What. The. Hell?_  

Struggling to contain her sudden desire to yell, Clarke says, “First off all, I’ve already told you I’m a virgin, so now you’re just being an asshole.”

When Finn proceeds to roll his eyes at this, her patience runs out, her chest flaring with annoyance.

Then he speaks again, which only infuriates her more, “And I’ve told you that I don’t want you to lie to me about sleeping with him. I’m not stupid, Clarke. I see the way he looks at you. I mean, _even_ if you haven’t had sex with him…” Baffled, Clarke feels her lips part a little, which makes Finn smirk, though she has no idea why at first. “…He _wants_ you.”

Feeling defensive, she tries to say something, yet he is still quicker, so he continues, “He probably thinks about you naked all the time. But he’s just too afraid to admit it, because he knows he doesn’t have a chance. I don’t think he’s as perfect as you make him out to be.” 

Clarke can’t believe his audacity. 

“How dare you?” is the first comment that comes to her mind. While she struggles against her lasting bafflement, Finn seems to be enjoying himself, and now it’s clear why: He wants to smear the image of Bellamy in her mind, as to eliminate the _threat_ that he poses.

But she won’t let him get away with it. “I can assure you,” she speaks through gritted teeth, “That if Bellamy does think about me like—like that, he hates himself for it. He never feels entitled to anything, and he would never intentionally hurt me, because he’s my best friend and he _loves me._ ”

That last bit emerges easily, as if she always known it to be true. Hearing herself say it is the only confirmation she needs. 

If there is one person in the world who deserves her, it’s the boy who loves her, who would do anything for her. Though it’s supposed to be a big epiphany, some sort of long-awaited wake-up call, it isn’t. Somehow, she has always known where she belongs, and it is _not_ here. 

“I’m leaving,” Clarke tells Finn, whose smug smile has faltered by now. Turning her back on him, she smirks, heading towards the front door. It feels as if colorful fireworks are exploding in her stomach and she could jump thirty feet into the air if she tried. 

Once she is out of earshot, having closed the door behind her, she pulls out her phone and dials her best friend. He picks up at the first ring, as always. 

“Clarke, are you okay?” Simply hearing his voice makes her heart feel warm. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just…” she trails off, smiling to herself again. “Will you help me escape this shitty party?” 

Of course, there’s a possibility that the stars won’t align for her, but one thing is certain: when she watches his car pull into the parking lot of the apartment building fifteen minutes later, her chest is filled to the brim with affection.

The first thing that she makes out is the bright grin on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave comments and kudos, because your support is what keeps me going and makes me smile <3 i'd love to hear your thoughts.


End file.
